


To an Unsolicited Mind

by iimplicitt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, After Hogwarts, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gellert Grindelwald - Freeform, Love, Love/Hate, Magic, Misogyny, Short Story, Slow Burn, Suggestive Themes, WIP, Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), Wizarding World (Harry Potter), Wizards, dumbledore - Freeform, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 22:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimplicitt/pseuds/iimplicitt
Summary: Tom Riddle began working at Borgin and Burkes directly after graduating with the full intent of gaining more knowledge and having free rein to practice his darker interest. However, when Chiara Romano walks into the antique shop asking for a job he finds himself thrown slightly askew from his agenda.





	1. Epigraph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was suffering a little writers block with “Hierarchy of Need” and thought I’d do a wip to get some creative juices flowing... and I wound up writing an entire short story. I actually really like how it turned out so of course I’m posting it!! Apologies to all those who are awaiting for the next ch. of H.O.N!! Soon, I promise!! Please forgive me for the delay, but in the mean time enjoy this if you’re reading :)

"Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still. For they must needs be present, that love and live in that which is omnipresent. In this divine glass, they see face to face; and their converse is free, as well as pure. This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal."

William Penn, _More Fruits of Solitude_


	2. 1. Chiara

_June 1945_

_____________

**Staring** up at the old wooden sign that read 'Borgin & Burkes', it creaked on old metal hooks as the summer breeze passed through the space between buildings. Even as summer reared its head, Knockturn Alley had a dark atmosphere hanging over the old, cramped streets. The cobblestone streets were uneven, long, and winding. If any regular happened to stumble upon this side, they'd get lost within minutes.

That is, if they aren't mugged first.

Tom snickered at the idea of some imbecile teen finding themselves away from Diagon Alley. Perhaps they would enter the darker streets on a dare, hoping to impress their friends. They'd be gone in minutes. The residents of Knockturn Alley could smell new blood a mile away. Tom himself had made his presence known during his early schoolboy years. When he was thirteen, the Malfoy's had taken him to get his school supplies. Along with that, Abraxas' father made a detour to the exact shop Tom was currently standing in front of.

He could remember the first time his eyes soaked in his surroundings, the dark magic practically dripped off these streets and it was intoxicating- addictive. Every summer after that, Tom diverted from the lighter-bustling shops of Diagon Alley and ventured for something new and exciting. 

Knockturn Alley never disappointed.

That being said, he could admit there should be a thorough cleaning, at least at the drafty antique shop he worked at every weekday. He observed the dusty windows for a moment longer before finally walking inside, the door squeaking in agitation on its hinges. An old man, Caractacus Burke, was sitting at the front counter, a steaming cup of tea in front of him that was undoubtedly spiked as he was reading the morning paper. Wooden floorboards creaked as Tom made his way through the shop, weaving between different objects that either stood or hanged at odd angles.

He knew to side step a skull that jutted out oddly, it was common for people to bump into said artefact.

Mr. Burke looked up, a monocle wedged against his eye under a white bushy eyebrow. "You're early," he hummed as he looked at his pocket watch, though it was broken. Smiling politely, Tom shrugged off his satchel and placed it in the cabinet meant for employees. "You said you had paperwork to attend to today, correct? I thought why not come in early and man the shop so you can get a head start."

"You're quite the suck-up," Mr. Burke chuckled as he took another sip of tea. Tom rolled his shoulders slightly in annoyance. However the image of throwing his boss off a bridge calmed his nerves slightly.

_In all due time_, Tom assured himself.

Mr. Burke was a greedy man, though not ambitious. Which is greatly part of the reason he hired Tom. Old age had caused him to lose his salesman charisma, and not to mention the man was insufferably lazy. Alas his savior walked in, Tom was young, charming, and had an elegant way with words. His main job was to research and acquire items for the store, though Tom had his own agenda.

In the month since he began working at the old antique shop, sales had risen exponentially. 

Eventually after about an hour and a half, Mr. Burke had to force himself out of his chair and head into his office upstairs. The only downside to sales increasing was there was a growth in tedious paperwork.

It was Wednesday so it wasn't busy, the work day rarely was.

There were two typical categories for the customers Borgin & Burkes attracted; the rich looking for decor and the poor scrambling to make a quick galleon. Tom could recall all the desperation on their impoverished faces as they attempted to sell him some 'rare' artefact. Mr. Burke would be so gullible, but Tom actually did his research and turned away many.

He was preparing himself to do just that as he heard that godforsaken door creak open, followed by the wail of the floors. As expected, there was a slight gasp that escaped the customer's lips as they bumped into that skull that had horns growing in odd directions. He knew he should probably move it, but why take away his only pathetic excuse of entertainment?

"How may I help you?" His tone was polite and cheerful, though annoying to his own ears. However his hospitality ended there, seeing as he didn't look up from the book he was reading. "Are you hiring?" The Italian accent made him glance up in slight curiosity, a young woman stood in front of the counter, she couldn't be much older than he was. Perhaps even a year or so younger. Despite himself, he looked her up and down with a slight raise of his brow.

"You would like a job, here?" He thought it best to clarify. Though her eyes narrowed slightly, clearly not like being talked to as if she was incompetent. "Yes, here. Are you in charge of hiring?"

Closing his book, he came to realize she would be far greater entertainment than some old skull. "No, I'm not. That'd be Mr. Burke, however I warn you he's not a generous man." She nodded once and bit at her lip, pondering he knew not what. "Where's his office?" She asked and he leaned back in his chair slightly, "why would you want a job here?"

"I don't believe that was my question."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the only thing preventing her from slapping him was the counter between them. He wasn't necessarily impressed that she was able to hold his gaze for so long, but he did have to give her some credit. "May I have a name?"

"You might if you tell me where his office is."

Running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, he gestured to the narrow stairs behind him and she bowed her head only slightly in thanks. Turning in his seat to follow her movements, he nearly chuckled as she halted in hesitation at the foot of the steps. "Is this thing even safe to walk on?" She muttered, testing the first step as she applied slow pressure with her foot. The wood caved slightly and groaned. 

Sighing lightly through his nose, Tom stood up and made his way over. He cleared his throat once he was behind her, a silent demand for her to move out of the way. She flinched slightly at his sudden proximity before getting her wits about her and pressing against the wall. The shop was unbearably cramped, no corner was empty which made moving about a tad difficult.

Tom began up the stairs, not paying the creaks any mind and she hesitantly followed. "Mind the twelfth step," he called over his shoulder, his long legs easily stretching over. Once they reached the top floor, it was considerably less cramped, though larger and more expensive artefacts resided where there was space. Mr. Burke usually only permitted serious buyers up to this floor. 

Leading her down a narrow and dark hall, the only light came from two candles that resided on each side of the door at the end, making their shadows seem more alive than one would deem comforting. Coming to a halt at said door, the paint was cracked and sat crooked on its hinges. Their arms were mere inches from touching when he leaned down, "name?"

His warm breath fanned her face, and even though the lighting was dim he could easily see that she was flushed. Clearing her throat, she kept her eyes focused on the door. "Chiara Romano."

"Lovely, Tom Riddle," he flashed her his charming smile before knocking sharply on the door once. The dull sound of something dropping followed by swears came muffled through the door and Chiara spared Tom a glance. A few seconds later the door swung open and they were greeted with an agitated Mr. Burke with a fresh stain of whiskey on his trousers. The old man's eyes landed on Tom first before he came to realize someone was standing next to him. "Who're you?" He grumbled. She was about to introduce herself when Tom cut her off. 

"Mr. Burke, this is Miss Chiara Romano, she's here to request a position." 

Mr. Burke's eyes widened slightly, the gesture almost comical due to his bushy eyebrows. He began to laugh, a bit more than appropriate but one could blame that on the alcohol. "What's a thing like you want in a place like this?"

Tom felt her tense up slightly beside him at being called a 'thing' but she simply plastered on her own beautiful smile, one that could win almost anyone over. "I'm in need of a summer job, and I believe my talents are of more use here than someplace else."

Tom raised a brow, he was sure she had no definable traits. She most likely couldn't get a job in Diagon Alley, seeing as the summer holiday was relatively busy with shoppers and tourists. Lo and behold, her desperation led her to a shit hole like this. Mr. Burke looked like he was about to shut her down, which is what Tom was fully expecting. However, as the old man glanced over his shoulder at the large stacks of parchment awaiting him, he turned back to Chiara quizzically. 

"You any good with numbers?"

Her smile fell into one of a more genuine nature, whereas Tom's lips fell into a near frown. He didn't like where this was going. "I'm wonderful at numbers, arithmancy was one of my best classes." Mr. Burke clapped his hands and smiled widely before turning on his heel. He scooped the paperwork into his arms and halfheartedly dropped the weight into the girls arms, making her almost fall over. "Well love, looks like you've gotten yourself a job. Riddle, you can be her mentor. I have other things to attend to so don't bother me till closing time." With that, Mr. Burke shoved them out of the doorway and slammed the thing shut.

"That was easier than I expected," she beamed, but her grin fell slightly at the blank look on his features. His mind seemed to be elsewhere for a moment before he blinked and shook his head slightly. "Right, we work Monday through Friday, unless Mr. Burke specifies otherwise. Be here by eight, lunch is at twelve, closing hours depend. Questions?" 

Chiara barely opened her mouth when he nodded and began to walk down the hall. "Ehi, cazzo. Where am I supposed to do my work?" she called out, her aggravation getting the best of her. Tom stopped short and rolled his shoulders slightly, was it too soon to hex his colleague? Turning, he mustered up a pleasant smile, "there's a faculty work room on the bottom level, the stairs are to the left of the cupboard behind the counter and down the hall."

With that he turned, not having the energy to tolerate looking at her further. He began to walk down the stairs but couldn't help himself as he spoke over his shoulder, "Ti sarei grato se non avessi usato volgarità."

Chiara felt the blood drain from her cheeks and Tom went back to work with a smirk imprinted on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any errors in the Italian please let me know!! I myself am not fluent in the language so I use a translator, which isn’t always reliable.


	3. 2. Gold

_July 1945_

______________   
  


**Chiara** had only been working at the antique shop for a little over two weeks, but nonetheless she gave him a headache. Her presence alone was incessant, making a dull ache pop up behind his eyes when she'd show up for her shift.

Tom was also annoyed at the notion she was actually good at her job, he had been expectant for her to fail, he wanted her to. He had a superiority complex so deeply ingrained in his system that he enjoyed other people screwing up, purely just for his enjoyment. Though it also further proved his belief that he was better than everyone.

Something that also annoyed him, though he couldn't pin point why, was that everyday she brought two apples. Both a golden yellow, a stark contrast to the dark and gloomy setting of Borgin & Burkes.

Chiara always offered him one, but he declined. She wondered if he ever ate, he wasn't frail but he was on the skinnier side, his height making him appear more lean than he probably was. Or perhaps it was just that his cheeks appeared to cave in more than one usually saw for someone his age.

"Apple?" 

Her voice brought him out of his head, he had been staring at an old pensieve someone had brought in the other day. The thin stone dish had delicate cracks running through it, and he'd stayed late the previous night attempting to mend them properly.

"No, thank you."

His tone was polite as usual, but there were undertones of exasperation. Chiara didn't let him deter her ever present good mood and shrugged as she bit into the fruit. 

The sound of it seemed to echo around the shop, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand up and he closed his eyes for a moment. Perhaps he was just suffering from sensory overload, or maybe she was just that annoying.

Everything about her seemed to tick off a mark on things that bothered him. For one, she was always in a good mood. Though he supposed her constantly complaining wouldn't exactly be welcomed either. Chiara's wardrobe choices were also questionable.

Today she wore a pale yellow sundress with white flowers, the fabric nearly screamed she didn't belong in such a place like Knockturn Alley. How she managed to get through the winding streets without a scratch peaked his interest slightly, but he shoved away the curiosity.

"Is that dress work appropriate?"

Chiara raised a brow at him before looking down at her attire, "yes, do you think otherwise?" He raised one shoulder in a half shrug and she narrowed her eyes. "Mr. Burke hasn't had a problem with my outfits."

"Mr. Burke is an old man who appreciates a view."

Her cheeks flushed, though not in embarrassment, but in anger. Tom tilted his head to the side, trying not to let his amusement show. Finally, she wasn't so chipper.

His cruelty should be concerning, but Tom was ignorant to the notion something was probably wrong with him.

"I should be allowed to where whatever I like without the worry some old creep is making eyes at me and an arse like you saying my dress is inappropriate. My dress is perfectly fine, it's not my fault you lot can't keep it in your pants." Due to her frustration, her Italian accent became slightly thicker half way through her ramble.

Tom considered her argument for a moment before humming, she had a point, but he wouldn't tell her that. Getting up from his seat, he opened the cabinet and swung his bag over his shoulder. "Where are you going?" Annoyance was still evident in her tone. 

Tom's mood had risen due to hers becoming crestfallen, he never could resist twisting someone around like that. It fueled his ego, probably an unhealthy amount. No matter who it was, he was always able to manipulate a situation into his favor.

"My job, shouldn't you be doing yours?" He was about to head out and do some research of his own, currently his fixation was on the artefacts of the Hogwarts founders. There had been whispers some had been found. "If I recall, there's a large stack of fresh paper work on your desk downstairs." He smiled at her, for once it was genuine but it was driven out of him malevolently.

He began to walk towards the door, disregarding the disbelief currently etched onto her features. 

"Why are you trying so hard to make me hate you?" Her question caused him to pause, the handle already halfway turned. He nearly scoffed, he wasn't trying hard. Nonetheless, he didn't exactly know what to say. Which was a first.

"I'll be back by lunch," with that he pushed the door open and fell into the bustling streets of merchants and others who were up to no decent business.

She stared at the door long after he left, Chiara could still almost see his silhouette. He confused her, just as well as infuriated. People usually weren't that hard to read. Sure, most put up a facade, but his was unscathed. What on earth had he gone through to become so alienated?

It simply wasn't normal.

The more she pondered it, not a thing about Tom Riddle was normal. He didn't even seem human, his mannerisms appeared calculated, he never moved without thinking ten steps ahead. She couldn't even go within two feet of him for fear she might get cut. 

Her head began to ache as she tried to put herself in his shoes, a life like that seemed exhausting. Perhaps he's been at it so long, he became numb to the energy is required.

Chiara frowned at the thought, that was definitely no way to live.


	4. 3. Quit

_August 1945  
_____________  
  
_

**In** the past month, Tom had fallen into more childish antics, but he could admit he was at least enjoying himself. He had started to do little things to tick her off, in the mere hope she'd get so fed up that she'd quit. Though he had to be subtle about it or else he would end up looking ridiculous.

What he did varied from moment to moment, mostly just depending on his mood. The first time was his favorite, Chiara's reaction was priceless.

Throughout the day, as she was either cleaning certain objects are just making her way through the shop, he'd make things jump out at her. A few weeks ago, a new artefact had come in and Mr. Burke wanted it spotless and on display immediately.

It was a medium sized, albeit small tree standing at nearly seven feet. It's bark was pitch black, and smooth to the touch. Though if one were to look closer it appeared that the trunk was woven from strings of the night sky itself. At night, Tom also found that if you look long enough, the wood seemed to sway and move, rearranging itself like moving water. The branches were long and spindly, similar to a spider's webs. There were no leaves, but it did bare blood red flowers.

So, as Chiara was tending to the tree and sweeping up any fallen flowers, Tom waved his hand slightly and one of the branches whipped out to hit her slightly. Similar to the way the Whopping Willow would attack anyone who went near it. She let out a startled scream, clearly being taken off guard and Tom had to bite at his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

Following that, every time she passed the large mirror they had hanging up on the left side of the shop, Tom would gather dust into a makeshift body and have it hover over her shoulder. Chiara didn't notice at first, but once she looked up and saw a faceless being lurking behind her she staggered away and bumped into a table, sending the contents toppling. 

She got a good telling off for clumsiness from Mr. Burke that day, all the while Tom sat smugly at the front counter reading a book.

He would also trip her up when she was with clients. Either by physically making her trip, or jinxing her to stumble over her words. His favorite incident was the week prior, there was an elderly couple Chiara was trying to convince to buy a necklace that was supposedly ancient and belonged to Morgana's sister.

While she was walking backwards, just two steps, he formed a ridge in the carpet and that sent her forward, knocking right into the man. Their position wasn't necessarily compromising, but the wife surely didn't appreciate it. Needless to say, Chiara wasn't successful in her sale.

His favorite thing to do however, was hex her food. Most notably her beloved golden apples. Last week, she had walked in, and like usual, he declined her offer. 

When lunch had rolled around, he'd aimed his wand at the spare fruit and hexed it to have maggots in it, though he made sure none would dig their way out and break the skin.

He sat at the counter as per usual, flipping through one of his many books and he heard her descend down the stairs before rounding the corner and nicked the apple off the counter. He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, watching out of his peripheral vision as she went down the second set of stairs that led to the basement where she usually ate her lunch. 

Barely a minute had passed when he heard her scream echo through the floorboards. "Che diavolo!" Her voice tore through the air, it easily carried itself up the stairs and Tom had smiled wickedly into the worn pages of the book.

Sadly, she no longer left her apples out for him to mess with.

Later in the month, Tom was down in the basement writing down all the sales he'd made as well as new items he acquired when there was a sharp knock on wood. Looking up, Chiara was on the stairs and had her purse hanging off one arm.

Her nervousness was evident, seeing as she kept fumbling with her hands and her eyes were darting around the room. "Yes?" He inquired impatiently, not seeing why she was so needlessly interrupting his work.

"It's awfully dark in here, you should light another candle." Her voice carried across the stale air, it was quiet but the echo made her seem louder. He raised a brow and gestured to her with his quill, "is that really why you came down here?" 

Chiara huffed slightly at his bluntness, but part of her was grateful. He was great at getting people to spit out what they meant. "Would you like to have lunch with me?"

He raised his eyebrow, mostly because he was surprised considering how poorly he's treated her the past two months. Where did she get the hint that he would even consider saying yes? Surely she knew he despised her.

Admittedly, he was hungry and didn't have any plans. However a single word left his lips easily, "no."

Her lips pressed into a line and she nodded once, honestly, what was she expecting? It wasn't in his character to jump at an opportunity like getting lunch with a girl he enjoys making miserable. Chiara didn't bother to scold his crudeness and turned on her heel, heading back up the stairs. She didn't want to pity him, she wouldn't allow herself to. And she was sure Tom would appreciate the gesture. Nonetheless she found herself frowning for what seemed like the hundredth time.

He never seemed to leave the shop, perhaps that was why he was so pale. Either way, he needed to get out more. Tom was young, and admittedly handsome, there was a whole world out there for the taking yet he spent his days holed up in a dusty old store.

Sure, the objects inside were fascinating, but one shouldn't revolve their life around materials. If they do, they'd never reach the fulfillment they so desperately crave. Most of the time people aren't even aware they're chasing after something with broken legs.

That's what Chiara felt Tom was doing, and it was nearly painful to watch.

_________________________________

Tom sat, waiting patiently for the sound of the front door shutting and waited ten minutes before getting up himself. Of course he was going out for lunch, just not with her. He couldn't imagine putting himself into such a situation willingly.

Heading down the winding streets, the atmosphere became lighter as he neared Diagon Alley. The street goers clearly less intimidating and there were larger amounts of families.

He didn't know what he was in the mood for, but he spotted a cafe awhile down that didn't look too congested. Walking in, a bell chimed above him and his eyes skimmed over the tables, eying for a place to sit. He paused however when a familiar face landed in his line of vision.

"For Merlin's sake," he said under his breath. Must she be everywhere? Had be pissed the universe off somehow? Was this his punishment for pursuing the dark arts? The cynical joke made his lips quirk up slightly but he shook his head. Sometimes he got the inkling something was off inside him. Yes, he had split his soul. But the repercussions of the action were never truly felt. At least he didn't think so, but as the years passed he supposed he lacked certain moral standards.

Empathy for starters, though he didn't really see that as a problem.

Sighing slightly through his nose, Tom turned around, already half way out the door when Chiara called out his name. Closing his eyes, he took a breath before letting an easy smile fall on his lips as he looked over his shoulder at her. Usually he wouldn't bother with throwing up one of his many facets for Chiara, seeing as most of the time it was just them alone in the shop.

Now however they were in public, he had an appearance to uphold.

"Chiara, how unexpected."

He sat himself down across from her, their legs intertwined slightly due to the table being so small. She looked... different. Perhaps it was the warmer lighting, her surroundings finally matched her aura. The only time he's ever seen her was in the dim and bluish lighting of the shop.

"Are you following me?" She teased and he merely raised a brow before waving down a waitress. "Hardly, you just happened to be at the only convenient dining place."

She shrugged, her lips tilted up more than he would've liked. "I'm alluring, I know. You don't have to admit it if it embarrasses you."

This time he let a scoff pass his lips. Him? Finding _her_ alluring? If that ever was the case, he should feel embarrassed.

Although, he could admit this lighting was doing more in her favor compared to Borgin and Burkes. Eventually the waitress came by, clearly infatuated with Tom seeing as she couldn't take her eyes off him and stumbled over her words. The moment she walked away, Chiara giggled and he tilted his head at her.

"What?"

"Oh Signore, you're really that oblivious?" At the blank look on his face, she broke out into another fit of laughter, causing tears to shine in her eyes and he sat back in his chair. He kept telling himself the sound of her laughter was a nuisance, however the smile threatening to emerge said otherwise.


	5. 4. Forbidden Fruit

_September 1945_

___________________   
  


**The** last weekend of August had been painstakingly busy due to Hogwarts starting up again. Note, Borgin and Burkes wasn't exactly a pit stop for students looking for supplies. However, many used the trip to Diagon Alley as an excuse to venture their way down to view matters of the dark arts. Most notably pureblood aristocrats.

The hectic schedule put his scheming plans to get Chiara fired to a halt. Though the time between had been expanding nonetheless after their lunch, perhaps she wasn't as insufferable as he thought. She still gave him the inkling of a headache, though.

"Apple?"

That was her version of 'good morning' and it greeted him every day.

Tom hadn't had breakfast, he usually didn't, but he had also skipped out on dinner the night prior. He was so close to finding the owner of a supposed Hogwarts founders object, he wasn't sure which it could be. But with hours of pouring over books and records, he narrowed it down to either Ravenclaw's diadem or Hufflepuff's cup. He was leaning towards the latter, seeing as most rumors suggested the diadem was in Albania. Though it hadn't been seen for centuries.

Begrudgingly, he finally accepted her offer.

Chiara's brows raised slightly in surprise when he nodded once and she happily handed the apple over. When she continued to stare at him however, Tom considered chucking the fruit in the bin just to spite her.

"Right, Sorry."

The stubborn part of himself waited as she started to get busy with her duties, which was currently just doing light cleaning.

Holding up the apple, he turned it slowly and observed how the light hit the smooth skin. It almost seemed too perfect. His brows then furrowed slightly and he brought out his wand, running a few test to make sure Chiara hadn't meddled with it in any way. Who knows, perhaps she wanted to get back at him for the maggots? Though, Tom was mostly sure she hadn't put two and two together. 

Not yet, anyway.

Then again, how would she even know he would finally accept her offer that day? Merlin, he was overthinking this wasn't he? Shaking his head, he focused on the golden sheen again for a moment before sniffing it.

It smelt ordinary, nothing special though there was a hint of more sweetness.

"Just eat the damn apple," Chiara chimed from across the store, the suddenness of her voice snapping him out of his thoughts. He glared at her despite the fact she was now out of his view, bent down as she cleaned the lower shelves near the windows.

He turned it in his hand a few more times, trying to find a decent point to bite into it. Tom felt slightly ridiculous for dragging this out, but he had little trust for things handed to him. Sighing slightly, he bit into the apple, the crisp sound of his teeth tearing through the skin echoing out.

It must of been enchanted because it was the best damned fruit he had ever tasted.

Tom didn't vocalize that of course, but he caught Chiara smiling at him, and with that glint in her eye he knew she could tell.

"See what you've been missing out on?" Her voice was light and airy, dancing around the room and in between artefacts. He swallowed as he shook his head, "don't get smug. This could be laced with an untraceable poison for all I know. You're like Eve, this could be the beginning of my fall." He was being dramatic, and besides he doubted she was skilled enough to lace it that well.

Chiara shrugged, enjoying her moment of providing Tom with some sense of happiness. "Perhaps, but if that's the case you'll gain important knowledge in the process." Maybe it was just the way she was raised, but when she made someone's mood lift just the slightest it made her heart feel a little lighter.

And if she was able to move someone like Tom, even just a little, with an apple of all things, it was worth it.

She also believed in a higher power, whether that was simply the universe or an actual being. There was a gut feeling that perhaps her and Tom were always meant to meet, to balance each other out. A dyad. Tom sought to bring the worst out in people, while vise versa Chiara sought to bring out the best. She would even settle for just a sliver of light, a crack in his brooding exterior.

Destined or not, the atmosphere around them felt _right_. She'd never tell Tom this, he'd laugh at her like she was some dreamy eyed child. As she thought about it though, what did Tom believe in? Did he believe in anything at all?

Chiara felt like he had to. 

A man with such a drive as his had to have a core rooted in something. Whether it be in scripture or dogma, the power of belief is what drove the human race. Even the simplest of things like believing in tomorrow. 

The desperation to ask hit her like a train on a track, but she bit her tongue and continued to work. Perhaps sometime down the line, she'd be in a position where they were comfortable enough to ask such questions. After all, she didn't even know him.

Not really, but she wanted to.


	6. 5. Red

_October 1945_

________________   
  


**Dark**, thundering clouds had accumulated over London as the temperature continued to decline. Chiara didn't seem to mind, her wardrobe choices grew warmer but still held a bright character. Tom would also catch her jumping into rain puddles outside, he'd shake his head at her childish antics, not that she cared.

"You should try it, I think it'd bring you some joy," she chimed one afternoon. She was curious what he did as a kid, more so what little things he did to find amusement. No matter who they were, Chiara assumed everyone jumped into a rain puddle just for hell of it. At least once.

"I would prefer not to get my shoes wet," his words were nearly drowned out as thunder rattled the windows. "You have a wand for a reason," the tone of her voice was care free though he had the inkling of being talked to like a child. Something he didn't appreciate.

"I would rather not partake in something so pointless."

"Since when is smiling pointless?"

He looked at her for a long moment over the top of his book, he didn't understand her. Chiara was too optimistic for her own good, and if she continued to work in a hell hole such as Borgin & Burkes, it was only a matter of time before her beliefs shattered.

Merlin help her when that happens.

________________________________

The storms seemed to have found themselves a home over the city, they hadn't shifted in over a week, and only seemed to grow more dense. Every once in awhile late at night, a sliver of moonlight would peak through and cling to cobblestones like silver. 

The light left just as quickly as it came, casting the streets back in darkness once again, hiding all the sinful actions that took place.

Halloween was nearing, the pagan holiday being a favorite to families with young children. A consequence of that meant Diagon Alley was more busy than usual, and there'd be a slight increase of strays on the streets of Knockturn Alley. Kids would venture down to see if they were really afraid of the dark, or just what resides within.

One afternoon, Tom couldn't help himself and waited in an alley that he knew Chiara would pass by. He kept his eyes on his watch and just on time, he heard the click of her shoes approach, just about to turn the corner. Right before she did so, Tom stepped out.

"Morning."

"Dio Mio!" Her hand flew to her chest, a weak attempt to calm her breathing as she registered who had emerged from the abyss of the alley. "Don't do that, you scared the living shit out of me." Chiara shoved his arm slightly and he bowed his head in a faux apology, though his lips quirked up a bit.

_________________________________

The work day had been expectantly busy, the shop had been getting more attention due to Halloween being mere days away. Tom nor Chiara had to put much effort in if they wanted to sell an artefact, seeing as people were more willing to buy at such a time.

Nonetheless, talking to so many incompetent people was draining and Tom found himself itching for a cigarette. A habit he had been trying to quit, though halfheartedly.

Lunch reared his head and he shrugged on his heavy wool coat, the fabric fitting snugly across his broad shoulders. The moment he stepped outside, the bitter wind nipped at the exposed skin of his neck and face. Rain had already started to drench his hair and he pushed back the wet curls in slight annoyance. Turning up his collar, he went around back and stepped into a protective enclave that covered the alley. 

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a cigarette and wet it on his lips slightly before lighting it. Immediately a calmness from the nicotine poured into him as he inhaled, making his mind go fuzzy in a brief moment of euphoria.

His few minutes of peace shattered when he felt a presence beside him. Looking over his shoulder, Chiara was huddling herself the best she could into her coat, desperate for warmth. The fabric was bright red, nearly blinding compared to the dull atmosphere around them.

She also had a thick wool scarf wrapped around her neck, which she had been nuzzling her nose into until she lifted her head to speak. "You smoke?"

He hated questions like that, but he refrained himself from rolling his eyes.

"No," the cigarette bobbed up and down slightly as the word passed his lips.

She eyed the burning stick in amusement, not taking any offense by his tone. If he wanted to act like a five year old, than so be it. Despite her best interest, her eyes latched onto his lips and how they would envelope the cigarette as he took a slow, lungful drag. His chest would expand slightly, hold, and then Chiara would watch in a strange fascination as the smoke tumbled from his nose in swirls.

It burned her eyes slightly and she had to blink away the tears that built along her waterline. Nonetheless, she was curious.

"Can I have a go?"

He raised a brow at her and gave a smoky exhale before reluctantly pulling the cigarette away from his lips and passing it to her. He was expecting either two things to happen. One; she'd surprise him by actually knowing what to do. Two; she'd make a fool of herself. Tom was hoping for the latter.

Their cold fingers touched for the briefest of moments, and once the stick was in her hold she tapped it slightly to get rid of the ash that built up at the end. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she raised the tip to her lips and felt it was still slightly wet from his own mouth. Chiara made brief eye contact with him before she inhaled.

She regretted it immediately.

An acidic burn tore down her throat and invaded her lungs, almost feeling as if she breathed in sand that burned hot at her insides. Pulling the cigarette away, she raised a fist to cover her mouth as she violently coughed, smoke puffing from her mouth at awkward intervals. A complete dichotomy to Tom's elegant plumes.

"That's dreadful," her voice sounded croaky and Tom couldn't help himself as a laugh escaped his lips. She held the bud away from her as if it would bite her and she blinked at him aghast. "And you smoke this nonsense willingly?" Was this some sort of penance?

"It's always dreadful the first go around, try again." Chiara shook her head but stopped midway through, debating. If he could do it so easily, so could she. Reluctantly, she brought the cigarette to her lips again and Tom watched as they closed around the tip. Something about the sight was tantalizing, but he drew back from the thought quickly with the slight shake of his head.

"Breathe in slower, feel your lungs expand."

She did as told, the smoke still burned though it wasn't nearly as painful. Probably because she knew what to expect this time. The nicotine swirled around and settled over her nerves like a gentle caress, also warming her up a bit against the cold wind.

Exhaling, she pulled it away from her mouth and watched as the white fog danced between them for a moment before dissipating. "See? Not so bad," Tom chided as he took the bud and had one last drag before throwing it on the ground, extinguishing the burning tobacco with the toe of his shoe.

"Not so bad," she murmured in agreement.


	7. 6. Improbable

_November 1945_

__________________   
  


**Conversation** came more easily between them, which Chiara was thankful for though six months working up to this point seemed a bit tedious. Admittedly, she wasn't surprised.

In the months that she'd been employed at Borgin & Burkes, she observed Tom and reached a conclusion; he had a chameleon character. Meaning he would adapt his personality as he saw fit to his surroundings. Though Tom would never stoop so low and make himself appear any less intelligent. His ego couldn't bare it.

Tom had returned the favor and observed her as well, albeit he was by far more subtle. He had picked up on her mannerisms relatively quickly. When she was nervous, she'd wring her hands. If she was excited, she'd do a small spin. Frustrated, her nose would twitch and she'd scuff at the floor slightly with her right foot. When in thought, she'd bite at her lip. He didn't understand why, but that always drew his attention the most. 

"Apple?" She didn't wait for his response as she tossed the fruit at him, and on instinct he caught it easily with one hand before biting into it. The sweetness danced over his tongue as his eyes poured over the yellowed pages of the book, doing more research on Hufflepuff's cup. That's all he had been doing lately in his free time.

_________________________________

One afternoon, Chiara had just finished two stacks of paperwork when Tom came down the stairs, two cups in his hands that had steam billowing from the rims. The smell of tea greeted her nose and she closed her eyes for a moment, simply enjoying the scent. 

The sound of a cup being set down caused her to open her eyes, and looking down there it sat, the brownish liquid glinting at her in the candlelight. Looking up, Tom was nearly back up the steps and she frowned.

"Why eager to leave so soon?"

He paused and turned on his heel, inclining his head down slightly in order to view her. "I was under the impression you despised my company." Chiara waved her hand and let an easy smile fall on her lips as she picked up the cup, blowing the steam away lightly before taking a sip. "Oh no, I love your crude comments and glares." 

Making his way back down the steps, Tom tsk-d slightly, "careful now, or else I might start acting decent just to spite you." He pulled out a chair and sat across from her, crossing his legs at the ankle and leaned back leisurely. His eyes danced over her makeshift desk, which was really just a wooden slab on four pegs. She didn't seem to mind though.

Papers littered the surface and she had notes stuck in various places. Her handwriting was a jumble of makeshift cursive, probably due to her never picking up the quill in order to save time. Mr. Burke practically had her doing all the shops' finances, seeing as he was too lazy to do anything himself. Besides write the paychecks, that is. He would entrust that to no one. 

"You went to Hogwarts, right?"

Chiara's voice brought him back to his surroundings, and after taking a generous sip of his tea he nodded. She set her own cup down and leaned forward, curiosity already glinting in her eyes as she rested her chin in the palm of her hand. "Tell me about it, I've heard wonderful things about the place." 

Tom pondered for a moment as memories of his school years flashed in his mind, both good and bad. "It's wonderful, the first time you lay your eyes on the castle is at night. First years take the boats across the Great Lake, it shimmers like a giant in the distance."

She noted how his voice had taken on a more dream like quality, indicating his mind was elsewhere. His features had also relaxed into a more natural expression, he looked comfortable.

"And when you walk inside the Great Hall, the ceiling is enchanted to look either like the sky during the day, or the cosmos at night. It's beautiful. When I was younger, during dinners, I thought maybe just one day I'd get lucky and a star would fall into my lap."

There was an absentminded smile on his face, he only registered it when he noticed Chiara looking at his mouth. Shaking his head, he sat up a bit and took another drink of his tea. "Not much went on, there was an incident fifth year concerning another student, but that was resolved. By me of course."

Chiara rolled her eyes but her lips were still tugged into a grin nonetheless.

He couldn't ignore his arrogance, so of course he went on, listing his achievements and how he was the most gifted wizard to walk the halls since the great Salazar Slytherin. "And," he finished off, "I was head boy and graduated top of my class."

When she snorted, Tom raised a brow, not liking the lack of an impressed reaction from her.

"If you're some genio, what are you doing in a place like this?"

He mulled it over for a moment, though the question wasn't new to him. To say his peers and professors were shocked at his lack of a Ministry job would be an understatement. Especially Slughorn, he nearly wept when he realized his prize pupil wouldn't be running for Minister of Magic anytime soon. 

"Call me an entrepreneur."

She hummed in thought and tilted her head slightly. Tom could see the gears turning in her head. "Seems a bit reckless to me, you'd be better off in the Ministry."

A dry chuckle escaped him, "if I had a galleon for every time I've heard that."

Digging in her pocket, she tossed the golden coin at him with a playful air about her. Tom caught the shining piece of currency and twisted it in his fingers for a moment, letting the cool material seep into his skin before placing it in his own pocket.

"Entrepreneur for what exactly?"

He mulled it over for a moment, he couldn't very well tell her his ultimate goal in life was to overcome death. Tom felt that would raise too many questions, one doesn't often strive after immortality. Especially through the means of dark magic, magic society hadn't even dared to meddle with. Running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, his coffee dark eyes almost glowed in the candlelight as he looked at her. They nearly looked red for the briefest of moments.

"The impossible."

"Oh, I don't like that word."

He tilted his head in question and watched as she brought the rim of the tea cup up to her lips, watching as they formed her next words.

"I prefer improbable."

Tom found himself smiling, the amount of times he'd done so lately felt unnatural. Yet Chiara had found a way to lure them out.


	8. 7. Followers

_December 1945_

__________________   
  


**Frost** coated the windows while snow had packed onto the streets. Usually there was better maintenance to clear the pathway, but most didn't bother with that in Knockturn Alley.

The door creaked open and Chiara stifled a laugh as someone bumped into the skull. She was going to move it to a more reasonable spot, but Tom had insisted to keep it hanging at an odd angle.

"Well hello there, darling."

Chiara looked up once she realized the voice was talking to her. She was met with a boy around her age, maybe a year older, with platinum blonde hair and rosy cheeks. "Hello," she smiled warmly and sat up a bit straighter, he was rather handsome. "How may I help you?"

Her interest in him deflated slightly when he looked her up and down as if she was a piece of meat. "I've many things in mind," he smirked. The boy went to rest his elbow on the counter, resulting in an artefact falling over.

"Shit-"

Before he could reach it, another set of hands flew out and caught the object.

Tom narrowed his eyes slightly and Chiara raised a brow, it was clear they knew each other. Before she could ask, another boy walked in with dark skin and golden eyes that complimented his complexion. Already Chiara could tell he was more reserved in nature, just by the way he carried himself.

"Zabini," Tom nodded at him slightly before resting the artefact back down onto the counter carefully. "Malfoy, you lot go wait outside. I'll be out in a minute." The two nodded and weaved their way back out as Tom circled the counter and brought out his wool coat.

She watched him for a moment before deciding to ask, "who are they? School friends?"

He tugged the coat over his shoulders and fixed the collar, mulling over her question as he also put on his gloves. "You could say that."

Saying they were his 'followers' would be stupid, but truthful.

He could feel her eyes on him as he walked out the shop, he was going to ignore it until he opened the door and the cold wind bit at his cheeks. Turning, he debated for a second if he should ask. However the smile she held indicated she had read his mind.

"Yes, you can borrow my scarf."

Chiara dug in her bag for a moment before she found the woven black cloth. Hopping down from her chair, she crossed the store and gave it to him. Tom looked at it for a moment before wrapping it around his neck. "Thank you," he muttered, not sparing Chiara another glance as he left out the door.

The wind was bitter so he took to burying his nose in the wool, only to be greeted by the floral scent of her perfume. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was definitely prominent.

He walked across the street and found Abraxas and Colin huddled underneath an enclave, a weak attempt at trying to block out the wind and snow. "What news?" Colin asked as he rubbed his hands together slightly before shoving them in his pockets.

Tom looked around them for a moment, analyzing if there were any ears bleeding before turning his attention back to the two. "I believe I've found someone who currently owns one of the founders objects."

________________________________

When Tom walked back into the shop, Chiara was whistling a bit louder than needed and was avoiding looking at him. All in all, she was acting too casual. As he shrugged off his jacket, Tom narrowed his eyes slightly and saw she was shivering a bit and the ends of her sleeves were a tad damp. "Eavesdropping? I thought higher of you."

Chiara threw away her act quickly, not seeing a point. Turning to look at him, she smiled at the sight of her scarf wrapped around his neck. "Really? I'm flattered."

Tom scoffed slightly as he tugged her scarf off and plopped it down on the counter. The floral scent still lingered however and he knew a good shower would fix it. Nonetheless, he wasn't too worried considering he didn't say anything of importance. At the sound of a thud, Tom looked up at saw she had stubbed her toe. She was jumping up and down as swears left her lips. 

He smiled slightly, and besides, Chiara didn't really pose much of a threat.

___________________________________

The next day Chiara tossed him an apple as per usual, leaning against the counter for a few minutes as she watched him read. This would typically bother him, but over time he grew used to it.

"What exactly are the founders objects?"

He raised a brow but continued to read, only closing the pages once he was done with the chapter. Though excitement had already decided to build up in him, Tom always jumped at the opportunity to share knowledge with others. Seeing as it so rarely happened.

"It's legend that the four founders of Hogwarts possessed certain objects, all of different magical worth. Slytherin a locket, Ravenclaw a diadem, Hufflepuff a cup, and Gryffindor a sword."

Chiara conjured herself a chair before she sat down, leaning forward on the counter in interest. Tom watched as her eyes lit up with curiosity, her attention slowly focused on him. He liked it when she looked like that.

"The locket was a creation of Salazar Slytherin, when he created it, he enchanted it so that only a parslemouth like himself could open it. Rumors and other studies suggest it was golden in color, heavy, and with a glittering green serpentine 'S' embezzled in stone."

She hummed slightly, it wasn't hard to visualize the piece of jewelry due to Tom's vivid description. "Where is it now?" She asked, and he shrugged slightly. Chiara smiled as she rested her chin in the palm of her hand, "you're going to try to find it aren't you?"

"No, I'm not trying to find it," he bit into the apple, looking at her pointedly. "I _will_ find it."

His ambition never ceased to amaze her, but she had to give him some credit. Tom was the type of man who if he wanted something, he'd bend the heavens to acquire it. "What about the other three, are they lost as well?"

"All but Gryffindor's sword. The sword of Gryffindor was made a thousand years ago by goblins, the magical world's most skilled metalworkers, and is therefore enchanted. Fashioned from pure silver, it's inset with rubies. The sword was made to Godric Gryffindor's specifications by Ragnuk the First, the finest of the goblin silversmiths, and therefore King; though in goblin culture, the ruler does not work less than the others, but more skillfully."

He finished the apple and tossed the core into the bin beneath the counter. After that he drew out a roll of parchment and a quill, beginning to sketch out how he visualized each object. "Currently, the sword resides at Hogwarts. Where specifically, I've no idea. Most likely in the headmasters office I would presume."

Chiara watched as he sketched delicate lines in ink, forming objects with such intricate detail, though most of it came from imagination or references he saw in books.

"And the other two?"

"Ravenclaw's diadem was said to enhance the wisdom of its wearer, which is Ravenclaw House's most treasured attribute. It had a blue sapphire shaped like an oval. The diadem was later stolen by her daughter, Helena, a fact Rowena kept a secret from the other founders 'till her death bed. It's been lost for centuries, but rumors suggest it currently resides in Albania."

Finishing the sketches, he turned the paper around and watched as she leaned closer, her eyes dancing over the lines. Instead of continuing, he paused for a moment, simply just to observe her. Chiara's brow was slightly furrowed, lips tugged up a bit on one side, chin rested in palm while her other hand moved carefully across the parchment.

He cleared his throat, "And Hufflepuff's cup was created by Helga Hufflepuff. It's a small golden cup with two finely-wrought handles with a badger engraved on the side with a few jewels, the badger being the symbol of Hufflepuff House."

Her finger traced the outline of the drawings, careful not to mess up the ink, "and which founders object do you think you've found?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, albeit the notion came across more playful than he had intended. "That need not concern you."

"Just curious," she shrugged and backed away. The moment she did, only then did Tom realize the floral scent that surrounded him. Had it always been there and he was only just noticing? Or had she suddenly decided to use a more fragrant perfume? He thought it would be too strange to ask so he kept the inquiry to himself.

Later that night, Chiara asked him if he wanted to grab a quick dinner. Neither had realized how late the hour had become, both engrossed in their work. Tom was about to decline, but his stomach made sounds of protest.

They locked the shop up behind them, snow already beginning to melt into their coats. Tom turned after digging in his pocket for a moment and pulled something out, though it was too dark for Chiara to see. After a moment however, there was the sound of a spark and his face suddenly became illuminated in an orange glow.

Smoke warmed her face for a moment before he started to walk, Chiara falling into step next him. He gave a long drag, the smoke falling from his mouth looked more punctuated due to the cold air. "Here," he muttered as he passed the cigarette to her. Chiara didn't want to develop a smoking habit, but she took hold of it anyway and placed the tip between her lips. The nicotine calmed her, she didn't even realize her heart had been beating a bit quicker than usual.

When they got to Diagon Alley, the light from street lamps fell on them and Chiara handed him back the cigarette. She watched as snow fell in his dark curls the way ash from the bud fell onto the ground; softly and soundlessly.

Seeing the bright white flakes of snow caught in his nearly back hair and eyelashes was quite the sight. And though she'd never admit this out loud, he looked oddly boyish with his nose and cheeks tinted red due to the cold.

__________________________________

Later on in the week, Abraxas came into the shop again, this time more cautious of the hazardous skull. Tom raised a brow at his presence, he hadn't been expecting to see him for awhile. "Anything of importance?"

Abraxas shrugged slightly, his pale cheeks red as he tugged off his gloves. "That depends on you really," he then turned and spotted Chiara arranging new artefacts they had gotten delivered on a large shelf off to the side. "Afternoon, darling."

"Afternoon," she greeted, giving him a warm smile despite not liking him very much. He walked over, brushing the stray blonde curls from his eyes. "What did you say your name was again?"

Chiara stood up from her crouched down position and turned, only to find Abraxas standing less than a foot in front of her. She leaned back slightly and kept that smile plastered to her lips, "I didn't."

"Leave the poor girl alone, Malfoy." Tom sighed indifferently as he bit into the apple she had given him earlier. Abraxas raised his hands in mock surrender as he backed away, though he still sent her a smirk for good measure.

"Anyway, I was out shopping so I thought why not just tell you in person. As I'm sure you already know, you've been invited to my family's hosting of the Yule Ball."

Tom hummed slightly, he hated those parties but they still provided him great opportunities to fix alliances and other assets. He nodded once after a moment, "I'll be in attendance."

Abraxas turned to look over his shoulder, greeted by the sight of Chiara watching the two of them cautiously. He winked at her, "you're invited too, love."

Tom's lips quirked up slightly as he watched her immediately start to wring her hands, a nervous tick of hers. Chiara's eyes widened a bit and she shook her head, "oh no, I'm okay-"

"Nonsense." Abraxas slapped his hand down on the counter and when he lifted it, she saw he had left a reasonably large sack of galleons. She gaped at him slightly as he began to walk out the shop, but he stopped at her shoulder and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"To buy a dress."

After he left, Chiara had grown more awkward in her movements and her cheeks were flushed. Tom couldn't help the smirk threatening to take over his features as he watched her.

She could feel his gaze on her back, only making her cheeks heat up more and she huffed slightly before raising an eyebrow at him. A silent gesture that screamed 'what the fuck do you want?'

His lips tugged up at one side and she cursed the dimple that appeared in his cheek.

"Have you ever been to one of these things before?" She asked after a moment, seeing as all he was doing was stare at her for his own amusement.

"A dance? Yes, haven't you?" His voice was a soft baritone, though a tease was hidden somewhere underneath.

"Of course I've been to a dance, but this is different. This is a ball filled with some of the richest families in the wizarding world. I can already see them staring down their noses at me." She made a funny impression of an aristocrat sticking up their chin and Tom shook his head slightly at her childishness.

"You'll be fine, as long as you can waltz."

She huffed as she went back to organizing the shelf, "It can't be that hard."


	9. 8. Afterhour Waltz

_December 1945_

_________________   
  


**Snow** coated the city like a heavy blanket none could lift. Chiara didn't mind, she found the winter wonderland to be quite beautiful. Borgin & Burkes was nearing its close for the day, so she sat against the front windows and watched how the snow would glint in the street lights.

Due to the orange tint, it almost looked like lava.

She flinched slightly as she heard the lock click on the door. Turning to look at the clock, it was an hour too early. "What are you doing?" She asked as she watched Tom mess about with something on the counter, though from her vantage point she couldn't quite see. 

Instead of a reply, orchestral music filled the air, seeming to come from every which direction. Furrowing her brows, Chiara stood up and saw that Tom had fashioned an old phonograph. 

"What's this about? In a mood of some sorts?"

He didn't answer yet again, instead he walked out from behind the counter and straight towards her. Chiara involuntarily gulped slightly as her mouth had gone dry, nearer and nearer he grew, and she was too caught up in her thoughts to step back.

Tom held up his hand, palm upwards, "dance with me."

Blinking a few times, her gaze shifted between his eyes and the pale hand in front of her before laughing a bit nervously. "Pardon?"

"You need to know how to waltz properly if you're to attend the Yule Ball."

"Who says I'm attending?" 

He clicked his tongue slightly, "says the dress you bought yesterday." Her cheeks flushed slightly, how did he even know about that? It seemed fruitless to ask, so with a sigh parting from her lips, she laid her hand in his.

Tom walked her through it carefully, and thank Merlin she was a relatively quick learner. Only stepping on his toes one or two times. They fell into an easy rhythm, all the while Chiara's eyes were trained on their feet as she counted her steps.

Pulling his hands away from her, he muttered for her to keep going as their feet continued to step in the dance. Digging into his pocket, Tom grabbed a cigarette and ran it along his lips to wet the tip before lighting it. As if he never left, one hand found sanctuary in hers again while the other pressed to the small of her back. 

"Try not focusing on your feet so much, you should have the hang of it by now." Appearing to not hear him, Tom rolled his eyes and tilted her chin up. "Eyes on me."

She watched as the cigarette bobbed up and down with his words. It wasn't that she thought she was going to mess up if she didn't stare at her feet the whole time, it was just... in the moment looking at Tom so closely was a tad overwhelming. The nicotine from his cigarette calmed her however, at least a little bit. The smoke warming up her face and she absentmindedly inhaled deeper.

They continued to dance for awhile, well after hours, but neither seemed to mind.

Tom thought for a moment, debating before he let the words leave his mouth. Really though, what's the worst that could happen? "Would you like to accompany me to the ball?"

Chiara didn't allow her cheeks to flush, anymore than they already were that is. Giving him a halfhearted shrug, she tried to pass her tone off as indifferent. "Well I can't exactly go with anyone else."

"And why's that?" He hadn't really thought to ask about her personal life before, it was never a concern of his. Though the more he pondered, it should've been.

"With the war effort things are strained. My family and friends alike are all over Europe. Some are still in Italy, some in France, a handful are here but I don't know where. I even know a few fled to America."

He hummed as they continued to sway at a more leisurely pace now, the orchestral music becoming white noise to them. Looking at his lips for a moment, she hesitated as she lifted the hand resting on his shoulder. Tom's dark eyes were trained on her, but he began to hold his breath as he watched out of his peripheral vision. Chiara raised her hand, her fingers almost shaking as she took the cigarette from his mouth and placed it between her lips. Taking a drag, she blew the smoke out of the corner of her mouth before handing it back to him. Tom raised a brow slightly, he found the whole situation curious.

"What about you? Family split up as well?"she asked carefully, not sure if this was territory he wanted her to cross. 

Flashes of the orphanage popped up in his mind, then of the summer he had murdered his father. He almost wanted to laugh but instead cleared his throat, "you could say that." 

She didn't bother to ask him what he meant, which he found himself oddly appreciating. He also noted how the tip of his cigarette tasted almost like citrus. It was an odd clash with the tobacco, however he found that he didn't mind it so much. 

At the very back of his mind, Tom even wondered if that was what Chiara tasted like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unrelated but PLEASE go watch “The King” on Netflix!! It’s an absolutely stunning film (I’ve seen it seven times don’t judge me)


	10. 9. Warmth

_December 1945  
_________________

**Looking** up at the cramped building, Tom took one last huff of his cigarette before throwing it on the ground. He watched as the stick melted through the snow, slowly sinking. Chiara lived in a small flat on the outskirts of Diagon Alley. The building was narrow, slanted, and shoved between two others that were nearly identical.

The stairs creaked as he made his way up to the third floor, one board wailed so loudly it made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Tom mumbled the different doors' numbers as he walked down the hallway. It's ceiling was by far too low, he didn't even have to fully extend his arm for his fingers to brush the top.

He reached flat 307, smoothing down his tux before raising a hand and rapping his knuckles once sharply. There was slight commotion that was hushed through the wooden door, but it was clear there were at least three girls. The number seemed ridiculous for them all to be living in such a small place.

The door creaked open slightly and a tanned girl peaked her head out, eyeing Tom for a split second before swinging the door wide open. She gaped at him with no shame, completely ignoring how one of the pins in her hair came loose. Shaking her head slightly, the girl glanced over her shoulder and yelled, "you never said he was handsome!"

Turning her golden eyes back on Tom, who of which looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, she smiled at him suggestively. "You know what would be a splendid idea? You should come with us to this country side village we sometimes go to, oh Chiara would love-"

Seconds barley passed before Chiara wedged her way to the door, a flush to her cheeks as she scolded her friend with her eyes. Tom felt his lips quirk up slightly, there was clearly going to be a telling off later.

Slamming the door shut, Chiara blew a stray hair out of her eyes and smoothed down her dress, muttering an apology for her friends behavior. Tom didn't mind, he could never resist flattery. Raising his arm, Chiara looped it through and he looked down at her with a faux offended expression. 

"You never said I was handsome?"

Rolling her eyes, Tom couldn't help the smug expression tugging at his lips as he apparated them away.

___________________________________

Blinking up at Malfoy Manor, the large and black monochromatic estate was breathtaking as well as daunting. "Is the inside just as intimidating?" She muttered, her heels clicking on the cobble stone walkway. 

"It's a matter of perspective." Tom itched for another cigarette but he knew now wasn't the time. The ridiculous little things were addictive.

Other guests were walking in as well, all dressed lavishly to reflect their wealth. Chiara bit her lip slightly as she looked down at her own gown. Yes, Abraxas had given her plenty of money. Nonetheless she felt guilty so she only spent about half of it. Part of Chiara regretted the action now as she stared at all the other dresses the guests were wearing.

Tom could sense her deflate slightly and he pulled her to a stop just before the front doors. Which were massive, nearly fourteen feet tall, and dark oak. She furrowed her brows at him and watched as other couples went around them, annoyance clear on their faces but Tom didn't seem to care.

They were all beneath him in his opinion.

"I know you can handle yourself but heed my advice, don't let them get to you. If they see a crack they'll lunge, despite their diamonds they're like savages." He thought his words would be reassuring, but he watched as she gulped and he sighed through his nose.

"I don't even look like I belong here," she whispered low enough for him to hear, her eyes glancing inside the lavish manor. Tom's brows furrowed, "nonsense, you look beautiful. Now come along," he placed a hand on the small of her back and led her in, oblivious to the flush that burned her cheeks at his compliment.

___________________________________

The night was going well. Full of dancing, expensive food, and bubbling champagne. Everyone appeared to be in such good spirits that they didn't bother to question Chiara and who she was, though they were curious to how she managed to snag Tom Riddle as her date.

Apparently, he always showed up by himself. Chiara knew she shouldn't think too much on it, nonetheless she felt flattered.

Tom had just gotten whisked away by what was probably the fifth girl in the past twenty minutes, asking him to dance just once more. Chiara couldn’t help herself as she bit at her lip while watching him glide about, not liking how she wished that was her he was twirling around.

"May I have this dance?"

Blinking up, she realized it was one of the boys that sometimes came into Borgin & Burke's to meet with Tom. Letting a soft smile rest on her lips, she placed her hand in his and he lightly brought her up to her feet. He was taller than she remembered.

"I don't think I ever properly introduced myself, I'm Colin Zabini." Lifting her hand, he pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles and Chiara felt her cheeks heat up. "Lovely to meet you, Mr Zabini-"

"Colin, please." His smile was polite, and since she spent so much time with Tom she was able to quickly rule out there was no malicious undertone in his expression. 

"Colin," she corrected, letting him guide her to the white marble dance floor. "I'm Chiara-"

"Chiara Romano, I know. Riddle's told me all about you."

Her brows raised slightly but she didn't allow her expression to falter, though she also couldn't ignore the warmth pooling in her chest. "All good things I hope." Colin chuckled lightly as he began to lead them in a waltz, "now what fun would it be if I told you?"

She came to the quick conclusion that she liked Colin, by far more than she did Abraxas. At least there was an inkling of decency in Zabini. She shrugged one shoulder lightly as they spun, an easy going smile tugging at her cheeks.

"Fair enough."

____________________________________

Later into the evening Tom found her and ushered her out of the main ball room, following behind the Malfoy's and a few other families from the Sacred Twenty Eight.

"Where are we going?" She whispered. He leaned his head down slightly so he spoke in her ear, though the others were talking as well so it wouldn't be that noticeable. Her floral scent reached him and he twitched his nose.

"Think of it as an after party, though more exclusive and political."

Chiara raised a brow and tried to shove away her nerves, "then why am I coming?" Tom's eyes observed those around him, all too pompous for their own good. One day, and soon, they'd be bowing before him.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to her. "I'm always invited to these, and by default since you're my plus one, you're invited as well."

Clicking her tongue, she too gazed at all the purebloods with slight disdain, "lovely."

Entering a large rectangular room, the floor to ceiling windows filtered in moonlight that gave the atmosphere a blue hue. Though it clashed with the orange flames licking out from the fireplace. A long table took up most of the space and Abraxas' father took the head chair, followed by his wife and then son. Tom guided her off to the left side, pulling out her chair for her before taking his seat next to Abraxas.

The rest followed, and as she watched their calculated movements Chiara wondered if they actually had a seating chart.

Conversation ensued, though as Tom stated most of it consisted of politics. She tuned out most of it, her eyes dancing around the room to find something of interest or simply just daydreaming. However when the word mudblood was spat out she snapped out of it and felt goosebumps raise on her skin.

Somehow politics had gotten mingled in with talk of blood prejudice, though she supposed the two went hand in hand. And really Chiara shouldn't be surprised, they were being hosted by the Malfoy's after all. 

Their views weren't exactly unknown.

Still, over the years Chiara had gotten used to not giving into any taunts. Tom's words from earlier rang in her head, _if they see a crack they'll lunge._ Letting an indifferent expression fall over her features, she simply gazed at one of the wizards who was speaking, showing faux genuine interest.

"What about you dear, what's your lineage?" 

Her eyes shifted to who'd asked her the dreaded question. She was in her mid thirties, hair done up in a tight up-do that pulled at her eyes, making her look feline. The question was simple, but Chiara knew damn well she had to tread carefully.

Tom found himself stiffen slightly, he hadn't thought to ask her that before. How in the name of Merlin could be forget? Now wasn't the time however, his hand snuck under the table and he squeezed her knee slightly. Hoping she knew what she was about to say would be vital. 

He felt her shiver slightly, it was really only a tremor, but with his hand on her it was evident to him. Turning his gaze to her casually, he was surprised but impressed by the charming smile she wore on her lips. "Pureblood signora, though not of any well known family."

They hummed in approval and the conversation quickly continued, jumping to the next topic they found remotely interesting. Particularly a recent scandal between two Ministry workers.

Tom forgot his hand was still rested on her leg.

___________________________________

Apparating back to Diagon Alley, Chiara tightened her grip on his arm as she momentarily got her footing. Traveling by such means was tedious in heels. Looking around, she realized the were in fact not on her street. "Where are we?"

He blinked slightly confused, looking between the entrance of his flat and at her. Why hadn't he taken Chiara back to hers? "Actually," she began, saving him the trouble of his own thoughts. "Can I have a cup of tea before I head back?"

Scratching that the back of his neck, he felt the snow melting into his curls and nodded. Leading her inside, his flat resided on the seventh floor and she snickered once she realized this. "What?" Tom asked as he unlocked his door.

He opened the door for her and she clicked her tongue, "you would be so eccentric." Tom merely rolled his eyes as he shut the door behind him, shrugging off his jacket in the process. Seven was the most magical number, it seemed only fitting.

Going off into the kitchen to get the kettle ready, Chiara wandered further into the flat. It didn’t fit the typical standard of homey-ness, but it fit him. It wasn’t that big, but considering he lived alone it was spacious enough. Though the clutter everywhere made it a tad difficult to navigate.

Light wood flooring ran throughout the flat, accompanied by dark wallpaper. At first glance the walls appeared black, but as the light hit at a certain angle there was an emerald sheen. Books and journals were littered everywhere, stacks upon stacks of them. And where they would fit, scrolls of parchment were shoved into jars and vases alike. 

As she walked into the living area, more books greeted her, they seemed to burst out of the cases he had. The far left wall had papers, maps, and news clippings pinned down, different lines pointing in many directions she wasn’t sure where it started. She noticed sketches of the founders objects however. He was clearly more obsessed than he let on.

Behind her was a couch, made from black leather and it was placed in front of the fireplace and a coffee table. Chiara didn’t know when the fire was lit, but she didn’t mind as she sat and let the warmth sink into her. Not much time later Tom entered, carrying two steaming cups.

Sitting himself down on the other end, he handed her the cup. He himself wasn’t thirsty, but it was instinct he pour himself one as well. Just as she raised the rim to her lips to blow on it, Tom’s voice cut through the calm air. 

“Are you a pureblood?”

Sighing through her nose, she took a sip even though the tea was still too hot. It burned her tongue but she welcomed it. “Does it matter?”

Tom sat there for awhile, watching her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, she hoped to Merlin it didn’t matter to him. Would he really disregard her so quickly just because of her blood? There was some hope in her however, she could feel the conflict inside him as he went over everything he had been taught about blood status. Of the superiority of pure blood.

He himself was a half-blood, which contradicted all of his beliefs to an embarrassingly high degree. He had muggle blood in him yet he out preformed every other wizard he’d come into contact with.

“No,” he eventually said. The single word putting her nerves at bay. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

They observed each other for a moment, like the other was a strange painting they couldn’t seem to decipher. The firelight flickered over their features, the orange light dancing, somehow making the other more alluring.

The fire also provided a hint at the glimmer in their eyes, whether from alcohol or lust, neither knew, but they supposed it may be both. Neither cared.

However, they were hesitant.

Tom set his cup down and Chiara watched the movement with stilled breath, then followed his hand as it inched forward, touching her knee again. All the while Tom’s eyes were trained to her face, in the moment he was entranced with the features that adorned her.

When he heard the clink of her teacup being placed down, that was an indicator for him to move forward.

She was giving him permission.

Reaching out his other arm, he wrapped it around her waist while the other cupped underneath her thigh, lifting her up. Standing on two feet, she locked onto him like the missing key he never knew he was looking for, fitting perfectly in his arms. Dark brown eyes poured into hers, they looked orange in the lighting of the room, like there was an inferno going off inside her, yearning to be let out.

Her fingers ran through his hair and settled at the nape of his neck, finally leaning forward her lips pressed to his. Tom put his weight forward, deepening the action as he felt the softness of her skin below his palms.

Pulling back, she laughed slightly and the sound made his lips quirk up, he was in just as much disbelief as she was.

Letting himself fall into moments of pure need and want was a rarity, and a luxury for Tom. One he never thought he’d even experience, he never thought he wanted to. However in that moment he came to realize he had no reputation to uphold, no one around he needed to impress with a facade.

He wasn’t at Hogwarts anymore, he could do what he damn well pleased, especially in his own flat with a girl in his arms.

Tom pulled her closer and kissed her again, his tongue tracing the inside of her cheek as he turned on his heel, carrying her the short distance to his room. He placed a knee on the bed before slowly lowering her, Chiara’s arms still wound around him as the soft sheets greeted her heated skin through the dress fabric. Pulling back, he tucked the shirt from his trousers and undid the buttons easily.

She began to sit up but he eased her down again on her back. His hands ran up the sides of her legs to lift her dress in a feather light touch, making her skin break out in goosebumps yet again. Though this time for a good reason.

“Cold?” He teased and she smacked his arm lightly with a genuine grin on her face.

Once his hands reached her midsection, the kisses that he trailed upwards were probably the softest he’d ever touched someone before. And though he chose to ignore it, his subconscious also recognized it’d most likely be the last time as well.

The intimacy of their actions seemed surreal to him. As they moved a spark of euphoria lit up in his mind. Tom could sense it growing, prepping like a fuse, burning towards an explosion.

The feeling was rooted deep within him, a delight to the nerves and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Chiara’s skin tasted the air and every deep breath he took felt sweet to his lungs, urging to keep going, wanting more. Its beginning had the pleasure of the first drag of a much needed cigarette, delight flashing in the brain and everything - the world, seemed to be glowing.

Tom’s arm circled around her back then, holding her closer to him so that the song leaving her lips could greet his ears more clearly. The scent of _her_ was rising, a gentle caress to his nose.

Their gazes locked then, the wanton brightness of them in that moment blessing his eyes, imprinting the sight into his memory.   
  
Chiara was there, looking at him, and he was so beautiful. The man who once seemed untouchable to her was now bare and vulnerable. Their bodies moving in synchronization.

The moment seemed last forever when everything then poured outward, a torrent of sensations engulfing their nerves.

_______

_“A kind of light spread out from her. And everything changed color. And the world opened out. And a day was good to awaken to. And there were no limits to anything. And the people of the world were good and handsome. And I was not afraid any more.”_


	11. 10. Renewal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by degrees the forms and colours of things are restored to them, and we watch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern."
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, Picture of Dorian Gray

_January 1946_

________________   
  


**Reluctantly**, Tom agreed to go to a New Years party Chiara invited him to. She argued it was only fair considering he failed to inform her it was also his nineteenth birthday.

A cigarette hung from his lips as he adjusted his watch, observing himself in the mirror with scrutiny.

Tom despised his birthday. Not because the celebration of it was useless and a waste of time, though that did sound viable.

He hated it because it was a yearly reminder he was one step closer to death, and one step further from his goal of achieving immortality.

Perhaps it was the universe's own sick way of telling him he wasn't good enough to reach such admirations, or that he was being reckless. Nonetheless, his ambition was unmatched... he'd turned his back on Mother Nature long ago.

Sketches of the founders objects caught his eye in the mirror and he turned, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked up to the chaotic looking wall.

A devilish smirk tugged at his lips as he eyed one piece of parchment in particular.

Perhaps he was a step closer to his goal after all.

___________________________________

Later that evening, Tom entered a pub located in the middle of muggle London, shaking the snow from his head in the process. Disgust pooled in his chest as he looked around the crowded bar. Drunkards were laughing and singing, dancing between tables as their alcohol sloshed to the floor.

_Muggles_.

His disdain melted when he caught sight of a familiar face. Chiara was in the back corner with her three flat mates and two wizards Tom didn't recognize. Deciding to simply watch her for a moment, the greenish lighting from the low hanging lamp made her eyes appear almost a completely different color.

Her cheeks were tinged red as she laughed, evidence she already had a drink or so in her system. Tom thought the sight was fascinating; how her grin showed off all her teeth, revealing dimples as well and her eyes began to water.

As if sensing him, Chiara shifted her gaze and immediately perked up. "Tom," she yelled over the crowd, waving her arm for him to join.

Running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, he set off and did his best to avoid being touched by the rest of the occupants. Part of him wished it was just him and Chiara, but his rationality shoved the thought away.

__________________________________

Midnight was just about to rear its head, everyone watching the clock on the mantle with glossed over, intoxicated eyes.

Tom as well as Chiara were bit tipsy. He didn't want to get too drunk to the point where he couldn't remember the events of tonight the next morning, but he also wasn't in the mood to be completely sober either.

Just as there were ten seconds left on the clock, Chiara threw an arm around his neck and placed her other hand on his cheek.

"Happy birthday, Tom."

The second her lips brushed his, deafening cheers rang out all around them as the clock struck twelve. Whether it was the alcohol, or simply her, Tom threw caution in the wind and wrapped his arms around her, deepening the kiss in the action.

Eventually pulling back, Tom couldn't look away from her bitten at lips as she formed the next words.

"And Happy New Year."

___________________________________

Work continued up again at a more normal pace, though he'd also been preoccupied with the lead on one of the founders objects.

Chiara had also been in a better mood as of late, if that was even possible considering she was usually chipper. She was simply content with the notion they were more comfortable around each other. Note, they still hadn't strictly addressed that they'd slept together. Both equated what they did with one another to a heated moment of lust, no strings attached.

The tension was there, however. And constantly Tom kept her on her toes. Stolen glances, standing much too close, and when they would accidentally brush past one another, one of them would find an excuse to prolong the contact.

Though one night. after hours, as Tom watched Chiara blow a strand of hair out of her eyes as she did paperwork by candle light, he found himself wanting to kiss her again.


	12. 11. Elation

_February 1946_

__________________   
  


**Reaching** for the handle, Tom paused for a moment as he caught sight of Chiara through the window. He bit at his cheek, attempting not to let the bashful grin take over his features. Shaking his head, Tom settled his face before opening the door quietly.

As he slowly navigated through the shop, she went unaware as she continued to arrange the shelves. Once he was about ten feet away, he picked up his pace and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

Chiara let out a startled scream, her shock eventually morphing into laughter as Tom spun her around. "Put me down!" Smacking his arm, Tom chuckled and settled her on the ground. His arms were still placed around her and he rested his chin on her shoulder, "I've got news."

Turning in his hold, her own smile grew at the sight of his. It was such a rarity, the joy shown on his features made him appear so much younger. "Well? Tell me," she poked him in the chest playfully.

"It's hufflepuff's cup, I figured it out." Tom couldn't help himself as he shook her slightly, his excitement bubbling in his chest. "This woman, a collector of sorts, has the cup. One of the founders objects, and she's on the verge of agreeing to have a meeting."

"Oh that's wonderful," Chiara ruffled his hair, Tom scowling halfheartedly as he patted down the messed curls. "Well," she urged with a smile, "go and tell Mr Burke, he’ll be sure to give you a raise.”

Nodding his head, he pulled her hands away and rested his smile, though his lips were still titled at one side. As he walked towards the staircase, he heard Chiara clasp her hands. “Oh Tom this is wonderful,” she exclaimed quietly, feeling proud of him. Seeing him so excited made her oddly happy. 

Turning the corner and then halted, sighing through his nose as he leaned against the wall. He heard Chiara start humming to herself and he rubbed at the corner of his eyes as the guilt started to nip at the base of his skull.

Tom had no intention of informing Mr Burke.


	13. 12. Oblivion

_March 1946_

______________   
  


**Late** one evening, candles provided warm lighting as they both worked. Chiara tending to paperwork while Tom filtered through his notes. However as time ticked on, her eyes would drift to the pages of his leather bound journal. She couldn't make out the writing, but of course she saw the familiar sketches of the founders objects.

He flipped the page and a drawing of a snake caught her eye, or what looked like one. "What's that?"

Her voice surprised him and he started before glancing up. Biting his cheek for a moment, he debated telling her. Tom could be as vague as he wanted, though admittedly she'd see through it.

Leaning forward in his seat, Tom turned his journal around and slid it across the table to her. Pulling the worn pages towards her, Chiara observed the rough sketch of what appeared to be a skull eating a snake. "It's a bit morbid but, I like it." Her eyes trailed to something scribbled underneath it.

_The Dark Mark._

"What is it?" she asked again, handing the journal back to him.

“It’s a slight modification to ouroboros, a snake that eats its own tail. Except I added in the skull.”

With her inquisitive brow, Tom sighed as he leaned back in his chair. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a cigarette and wet it on his lips. “The ouroboros symbol itself represents infinity,” after lighting it he took his first drag and closed his eyes as the nicotine caressed his senses. “And with a skull biting the end, it’s essentially well, putting a stopper in death.” He tapped the cigarette and the ashes fell softly. Tom watched the action in strange interest. Not knowing why such a simple thing caught his attention.

“Immortality.”

Chiara felt her brows furrow, recalling some of the papers that had been pinned to his wall. There was a fire alight in his eyes. She couldn’t pin point why, but it troubled her. “Don’t you think that’s a troublesome thing to focus on? If you’re not careful you could fall into the deep end.”

Tom didn’t spare a second as he shook his head. “It haunts us all; death. Always there, lurking. I find my research notable and of viable importance. Imagine it,” smoke tumbled out of his nose and it made her eyes water. His voice had taken a different tone, a tone that one only achieves when they talk about something they’re passionate about. “Having complete control over your life and not having to worry about something so sudden and trivial.”

Worrying at her lip, Chiara stood and walked over to a liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of wine. After she uncorked it, she paused for a moment before pouring a glass. “Death isn’t trivial,” she muttered.

"Oblivion is terrifying, is it not?" Tom either didn’t hear her or simply disregarded the statement.

"You don't think people can find eternity in each other?"

He stared at her, “no.”

Chiara bit her cheek slightly before taking a sip of her wine. “Dedicating so much to something impossible... Tom being frightened of death and trying to run from it will wind up killing you in the first place.”

“It’s not impossible I’ve-“ rubbing at his eyes, he wanted her to understand. He needed her to. “I’m so close, and I’m not the only one. Nicolas Flamel for example with the Elixir of Life. He’s immortal, but thing is it’s faulty. He still ages and grows weak. I’m on the verge of discovering an alternative that’s so much more effective.”

Her eyes were widened and had hints of wonder, but also hesitation and disturbance. What did he mean he was close? It hit her then, Tom was much deeper into this than she realized.

Putting out his cigarette, he pinched his nose and attempted to put his frustration at bay. He sometimes forgot people liked to go through life ignorant. Still, he knew Chiara could be different. She was different.

Signing, he met her gaze. If she knew, she’d understand him. “Will you help me?"

Chiara shut her eyes then, the alcohol still warm in her chest though it didn’t have as much of an effect as she wished. “Tom you worry me,” she admitted. “This obsession of yours isn’t healthy-“

“It’s not an obsession, not even a hobby. Chiara listen to me. This,” he tapped his journal, his eyes ablaze, “this could change everything. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“_I’m_ not thinking clearly?” She said exasperated as she set down her glass. “You’re the one talking about defying nature. The magic one would have to use to even brush such a practice is...” she trailed off as she remembered what that symbol was titled. She looked at him then, really looked at him. “Tell me you didn’t.”

Tom was oblivious to the expression of shock and disappointment on her face as he stood up from his seat with a start. “Chiara you’re not listening to me, I can do it. I’ve already done it once before but now that I know more-“

“What do you mean you've already done it,” the panic that gripped at her heart scared her. He couldn’t have. What could’ve possibly pushed him so far that he felt the inkling, the need, to practice such a thing.

What made him so afraid?

He clenched his jaw, he felt hot as his frustration at her- or he supposed at himself, got the better of his character. “Three years ago I successfully, yet albeit it was a bit rough, preformed a dark magic ritual.”

“What did you do?” She pressed, stepping away from the counter and taking a step towards him with her arms crossed. How could he be so reckless. Tom stared at her and when she saw annoyance in his gaze her own patience was tested. “Tom what did yo-“

“A horcrux! I created a fucking horcrux and I murdered my bastard of a father in order to do it. And I nearly died preforming the ritual but the process in the end bloody well worked. It worked, Chiara. And imagine how much more powerful I’ll be with another, especially now that I’m more advanced.”

Chiara had gone pale.

"I know what I’m doing don’t you trust me?" Tom has grown frantic, his eyes more wild and he was untamed in that moment. Chiara took a cautious step back from him, her arms raising slightly in defense, “no, not when you're shouting." He was scaring her and she hated it.

She hated him for making her feel that way.

Tom Riddle had destroyed his own soul, tearing it apart, all in fear of losing it all together. He’d never be whole again. Though a small part of herself wondered if she could help fill the void he’d created... even then Chiara knew that would never be enough. She’d never be enough.

More importantly, she _hated_ him for doing that to himself.


	14. 13. Awakening

_April 1946_

_____________   
  


**Chiara** hadn't come in for work in the past week and she wasn't answering any of the owls he'd sent. Tom debated swinging by her flat, but took easy note that at the moment he probably wasn't wanted. He understood, what he revealed was a lot to process, especially so suddenly. Tom was trying not to blame himself, but it dawned on him he probably scared her off.

There had been a moment two days ago, well around three in the morning and he had a bit too much fire whiskey. Her floral scent was still imbedded into his sheets and he couldn't stand it anymore- he broke.

Tom didn't know when but his wand was in his hand and in a moment of pure rage he clenched his fist and white raw magic burst from him, throwing everything in his apartment back and into the walls. Falling to his knees, he'd rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands as he'd attempted to slow his breath. The next morning he got a telling off from his land lord for the amount of wall damage, even though with a simple flick of his wand all was repaired.

She'd come around eventually, she had to.

Tom was unlocking the shop, eating an apple, though it wasn’t as good as the ones Chiara usually brought. He nearly wanted to laugh, seeing as golden apples symbolized immortality. Shoving the door open with his shoulder, it squealed loudly on its hinges as he weaved his way between displays. 

He had picked up the daily prophet off a stand in Diagon Alley and threw it on the counter, not knowing whether or not he had any interest of reading it yet.

He'd gone about his duties, though admittedly boredom kept seeping back in. Chiara was his usual source of entertainment. However, despite everything there was slight excitement still in his chest due to a meeting he had planned next week. The collector who currently had Hufflepuff's cup in their possession finally agreed to a sit down. Tom was so close.

Looking towards the door, there was the ever present inkling of wanting to tell Chiara- knowing she'd share his enthusiasm if only they hadn't had their ridiculous argument.

Walking by the counter, the moving image of a child crying caught his attention. Reading the article title, it was another list of the dead due to Grindelwald. His interest wasn't peaked, such a story was normal considering a war was raging all around Europe. Magic and Muggle alike. The recent attack however was a country side village that had been hit a few days prior.

His eyes skimmed over the names apathetically till one made him halt. Tom's muscles became rigid and stiff, his eyes glazing over as the letters poured into his mind, trying to process.

Dipping his head, Tom clenched his jaw- he was shaking. His fists suddenly slammed down and he swept an arm across the counter, knocking whatever resided to the floor with a clang. With a wave of his hand the newspaper caught fire and he turned, wanting to scream but he paused when he caught his reflection in a mirror.

Crimson eyes stared back at him.


	15. Epilogue

_“People you love never die. That is what Omai had said, all those years ago. And he was right. They don't die. Not completely. They live in your mind, the way they always lived inside you. You keep their light alive. If you remember them well enough, they can still guide you, like the shine of long-extinguished stars could guide ships in unfamiliar waters."_

Matt Haig, _How to Stop Time_


End file.
